sobo

That was 7. Penalty flag on the play... Delay of game! On the offense, 5 yards!!!1

The hiking will teach it

Well, you're pretty much correct there, Billy. I almost had forgotten about it, until Bill reminded me through his own similar experience. Now I have to go back and "unremember" it again. Didn't mean to kill the thread...

I am continuously rebuilding my karmic stores as I deplete them. That's what my being in mountain rescue is for.

why not? if he lived through that shit, he must be invincible Some may call what I do climbing... others, not so much. But I still manage to get out a little bit. I wear a helmet religiously now. I refuse to climb at Vantage unless it's at the Feathers. They are more solid than the columns. Or Fugg's Falls, when it's iced up, is still a good trip. Regarding being invincible, I attempted to climb something later that same day after the swelling in my elbow went down some, to "get back on the horse" as they say. It was some climb, I think it was a 5.7, somewhere near the grotto/tunnel downclimb, that had some reference to Jesus or crucifixion in its name, because at one point on the climb, you're facing into the rock, face plastered right up against it, in a position not unlike a crucifixion posture. I got sorta scared on it, even at 5.7, and had to downclimb it. I never went back to finish it.

See you in the afterlife, if you believe in that sorta thing. Somebody drag up that thread from last year where some girl wanted to do this same thing. There's no need to type all those warning labels all over again. Found it! Read this, Crillz, BEFORE you go tubing the IID canal, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEZ!!!!1

Wow, that made me remember why I don't climb at Vantage anymore. How could I have forgotten about this one??? Years back, during the early 90s exploration of the south-facing walls closer to the river, I was climbing on some thing (near today's Chicks and Hens??, Fox and Hens? Hen something?) whereupon the whole column teetered away from the wall, with me on it in a mid-mantle move to the column top. I leaped off and to the right, "Superman-ing" it toward the earth. Anything was better than riding the column down, but I had no idea what I was going to do next. I figured, "Hey, one problem at a time." My pro was popping all the way, as the crack formed by the column widened and disappeared as the column fell further and further from the wall. I thought for sure I was going to die, but as I approached the talus for what was sure to be a hard landing, the rope came taught against the first piece off the ground (my leap had outpaced the column's fall), and I performed what can only be described as a "Wiley E. Coyote", whereupon one finds himself over the edge of the cliff, but doesn't fall until he looks down and understands that there is no longer any ground beneath him. I came up short against the end of the rope, decelerated rapidly, hung near-motionless in mid-air for a split second about 6 feet off the ground and parallel to the talus slope, then slammed into the talus. The impact force was akin to rolling out of the top of a bunk bed and landing solidly on the floor. I'm sure many of you have experienced this same feeling as a college student waking up after a night of binge drinking. The remnants of the column, now big chunks about the size of a Smart Car, came crashing down the talus slope toward me, grinding and melting the rope about 2-3 feet from my harness knot. Someone's pile jacket was effectively returned to its post-pop bottle state, a mass of melted plastic fused to the rock upon which it recently sat. Clouds of dust peeled up into the air, and I could hear Bill Robins' and Paul Certa's voices through the melee, "Oh my God, we finally killed somebody!" Being Hanford employees, I later learned that had I been killed in their presence, they would have had mountains of paperwork to fill out about the incident. I feel overjoyed to have been responsible in helping them avoid this inconvenience by not dying on them that day. Anyway, much to the amazement of the assembled crowd, I slowly arose from the ashes like a Phoenix, quietly dusted myself off, and proceeded to find a quiet place to assess my injuries: an elbow the size of a softball, multiple scrapes, lacerations, and contusions along one side of my body (where I landed) and both of my palms, and totally dusted in volcanic ash and dirt. No head injury, and I was NOT wearing a helmet back in those days. The whole place was silent for several minutes, as those present were in awe of my highly unlikely survival. I think they may have actually expected me to just fall over dead any second, as surely no one could have survived that plunge and the subsequent boulder barrage. I credit my life to my belayer that day, Randy Yeates, who stood fast his position instead of cutting and running, because it was he who buried himself in a crack, making a de facto body belay out of himself, and never let go of the rope, as I made my trip toward terra firma. Thank you again, Randy, wherever you may be. This is a no bullshit story. If Bill Robins were alive today, he would confirm it. If you know Paul Certa, ask him. I lost contact with Randy after that day. He may have ceased climbing after this. I do not climb at Vantage anymore.

Gene, Another vote for the Pack-n-Play for car camping. Somewhat heavy and bulky to transport, but it sets up/tears down lickety split, and can be drug out to the "kitchen area" of the camp during mealtime so you and the wifery can enjoy a beer without worrying about Jr. wandering off. Can be covered with mosquito netting if those little bloodsuckers become a problem.

Home of the Brave... I love that album Talk Normal :tup:

...

No longer qualifies as pr0n, then. purely soft core if it's adorned with the dot.

:lmao: Although, that is not the image I had of you, Sherri.

between 9:30 and 10:00 a.m., every day. takes 2 minutes or less, wash-up included. I'm known as the Rocket Man around here, as in I take rocket shits. In and out, no dawdling.

Not all dropping of cams is really dumb. Sometimes, shit just happens. I don't ask for replacement in such instances. Usually, if it's that major of a retreat that it is eating up shitloads of gear, then I'm generally pretty fucking happy just to be back on terra firma with my ass still attached to the rest of me when it's all over and done with to worry about gear replacement costs. Exactly.

yeah, ask the guy in lizard brain's post above.

I pretty much have to agree with what everyone else has said here. I don't keep track of who's to blame or play the "my shit/their shit" game. I've blown up a few partners' cams and/or fixed their gear on routes in long leader falls, and they've fixed several of my pieces and/or blown up my cams as well over the years. The way I figure it, we're in it together: if gear gets lost/dropped/broken/left as bailers/rendered unusable, that's all part of the game. Some of these events make for great stories later. But like Crillz said, if they do something [really] stupid to cause a loss, well then that's very different. I don't think an event like what Bill related above qualifies as "really stupid", but it was rather unfortunate. I would only hope that I would be so magnanimous as Bill was in the "blowing off" of the incident. And were it me who did the deed, I would like to believe that I would be so philanthropic as to behave as Dave did and "force" the replacement upon my partner, even if it was many years later.

you were just lying in wait for Reply #24, weren't you?

Is that Maug, the Klingon dude?

Which one? Or should I go for the "both hands" dyno?

must... not... post... nude... climbing... photo... of... myself...

ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOBBBBBBBBBBBBB!!!1 We found that little slant-eyed fucker!!!1

Hey Billy! By the time I was doing Westpole, I had already attended the "Seneca 7 Skewl of Hard Knocks." My initiation to that school was Alcoa Presents, on the back side. Frightening as one's first 5.7 at Seneca. And very humbling, too. It's too bad you missed the Gendarme. Getting on it was always a classic outing.

Just tell 'em, "Hey, I get paid to look at tits! What's yer excuse?"

Seneca Rocks, WV: Pidgeon exploded out of a pocket in the alcove where you turn the roof on Westpole. Scared the bejeezus outta me, but I hung in. Another time at Seneca: I had just summitted the famous Gendarme route (it ain't there no mo' - fell down a few years after this) in the gunsight. I had just finished the obiligatory unbelayed standing yodel when I noticed a dark cloud down the valley and a low rumble akin to thunder. Puzzled, I squinted for a better view. Within a few seconds, a VA Air National Guard A-7 Corsair came blasting up the valley, about 200 feet out in front of me and slightly below the level of the top of the rocks. I was looking down into the cockpit and could clearly see the pilot looking back up at me through his darkened goggles. He peeled the aircraft hard right and floored it outta there, shaking the shit out of the place. My partner, unaware of what was making all of the noise, starts screaming that the whole mountian is coming down. I couldn't contain my enthusiasm in relating what I had just witnessed. It was pretty fucking cool. It was one of these, but obviously in a different paint scheme.

I did not get my driver's license until I was 16 yoa. I was in the 8th grade (14 yoa) when I was delivering papers. I would ride my 10-speed (purchased with my paper route money ) to the drop-off point, load my bag, and walk the route each night and weekends (Wednesdays and Sundays required that I return to the drop-off point to restock, the papers were so big). And I walked each paper up to the front door (unless the customer wanted something different). The winds were so fierce, and the winters so cold, in Idaho Falls, and they didn't give you rubber banded papers, so it was my idea to walk each paper up to the front door, open the screen door, drop the paper in, folded side down, and quickly close the screen door, so that when the customer opened the inner door, it dropped into their entryway headline side up. They never had to brave the cold to pick up their paper. My customer service ploy was recognized and rewarded by many of my customers. But some of them were just cheap-ass bastards who expected that I deliver their paper for free (they were extremely hard to track down on collection days). And yes, I did my own collections, too, per company policy. I learned a lot from having a paper route, yessirree. Learned about hard work in shitty conditions for miserable pay, providing superior customer service even to those who didn't deserve it, and how to recognize a cheap-ass bastard at 30 yards. I hope you have a blast up thataway this winter. Go climb ice in Huntington's Ravine. It's a way of life.